


It Started with a Stew

by PedanticDictionary



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cooking, Fluff, Food, M/M, stew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PedanticDictionary/pseuds/PedanticDictionary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds the perfect cut of lamb shoulder for a stew, and when rain starts to fall, Mycroft shows up to keep him and his groceries from getting wet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Started with a Stew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeliciaHM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeliciaHM/gifts).



> This work is a commission, won in an auction held to support DashCon, the Tumblr convention! It was a challenge for me to write, being a ship that I generally don't ship but am open to, as well as being fluff, which I generally do very poorly with. I hope I didn't do a terrible job!

When John had reached the market, the sky had been cloudy, promising rain within the course of the day, but the weatherman had said the rain would fall much later in the afternoon, so he figured had time to go grocery shopping without having to bring an umbrella. The rain actually started as he happened upon a reasonably-sized, deboned lamb shoulder, which would make an excellent stew, with the right vegetables and sauce. As he made his way through the various displays of vegetables, letting himself be choosy about the onions, potatoes, carrots, and green beans he would be putting in the stew, the rain began to pour more heavily from the clouds, though it wasn’t audible from within the store. John found some good lentils for flavour, as well as some wine and other ingredients for the sauce. He was excited to be able to make a nice stew, especially for the cool, rainy fall evening that was promised. As he paid for his selections, he didn’t bother to look out the clear glass doors to see the downpour outside. John took his bags, still thoroughly enraptured with the idea of a stew, and stepped through the doors, where the sound of the rain on the awning above him made him pause.

He had been so caught up in thinking about the stew he was going to make later, to cheer up the gloomy night, that he didn’t notice the weatherman’s most recent mistake until he had to figure out how to get home without his groceries getting soaked. He sighed, staring out into the rain long enough to notice a sleek black car pulling up directly in front of him and stopping. The door opened, and Mycroft Holmes started to get out, his ever-present umbrella beginning to open outside the car. The umbrella would be big enough for John to get through to the car without so much as a drop of water hitting the groceries. With another sigh and a roll of his eyes, John made a dash for the car, preventing Mycroft from getting any rain on his obviously expensive suit, and slid in alongside the elder Holmes brother, settling his groceries on the floor of the car between his feet.

“You could have waited a moment longer and spared your groceries getting any rain on them whatsoever,” Mycroft pointed out, in lieu of a greeting.

“Yes, but then your suit would have gotten wet,” John countered, “and your shoes would have, too. Wouldn’t want you to lose such a nice pair of shoes.” The car started moving without Mycroft saying a word to the driver. “Don’t you have people who could have done this for you? I don’t need to be personally escorted to my flat.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s raining and you don’t have an umbrella,” Mycroft replied. “Besides, you’re obviously planning some kind of nice dinner—“

“Lamb stew,” John interrupted proudly, still excited about having found the meat in the first place. Mycroft simply gave him a sideways glance as acknowledgement that he had spoken.

“—and it wouldn’t do for your flat’s distinct lack of sanitary counter space to get in the way of your meal,” Mycroft finished, raising an eyebrow, challenging John to counter his point.

“There’s some clean counter space! Sherlock cleaned up the experiment with the cow’s brain,” John retorted, feeling rather proud of himself for remembering which experiment had occupied the counter in the first place.

“A clean pot for the vegetables and sauce?”

“There’s an empty one, and I’m sure it can easily be—“

“An empty section of the broiler that can be safely heated?”

John sighed. Sherlock had experiments in the broiler that had to remain unheated, else they would release some kind of toxin or other into the air as a vapour and cross-contaminate each other, ruining the experiments and any food that might happen to be in there with them.

“What do you suggest, then, Mycroft?” John asked in reply, waving a single hand in surrender. Whatever Mycroft suggested, John expected it to be extravagant and overly much for just a simple stew.

“I suggest you use my personal kitchen,” Mycroft answered, seeming quite satisfied with himself for giving an answer the doctor would not have expected. “I can… _convince_ my brother to join us, since it would only follow that you intended to share the meal with him.” John shrugged.

“There’s more than enough for two, and since we’re using your kitchen, I must insist you share with us,” John replied, polite as ever to the elder Holmes brother. “I doubt Sherlock will be pleasant company, though. He hasn’t had a case in a few days, and I’m sure you know how he gets when he’s bored.” Mycroft nodded, his expression one of understanding. Having grown up with Sherlock, he knew exactly how it was when the world’s only consulting detective got bored.

“Would you prefer to leave him be?” the elder Holmes offered, knowing that during these times, Sherlock wasn’t very likely to notice food, let alone eat it. There were far more interesting distractions to occupy his mind with. Again, John shrugged.

“It wouldn’t make much of a difference either way, he probably wouldn’t even bother to notice,” the doctor said, trying to decide whether it would be worth it to disturb Sherlock or to leave him be. He thought for a moment before giving his answer. “Leave him. This isn’t the kind of food you waste.” John missed the small smile that crossed Mycroft’s face at the decision, though Sherlock would have scolded him for not paying attention.

And so it was that John and Mycroft wound up side by side in Mycroft’s kitchen, chopping onions while the lamb browned in the broiler. John glanced over to see if he had to correct what Mycroft was doing, and was impressed to see that the elder Holmes appeared to have some knife skills.

“I was under the impression you had a cook,” the doctor mentioned, transferring his chopped onion onto a plate set aside to hold the various chopped vegetables until it was time to put them in the stew pot, which sat on a burner, sauce simmering at the bottom. “I guess I was wrong.” Mycroft smirked in such a way that he looked pleased with himself, rather than cruel or mocking.

“I rather enjoy cooking, you’ll be surprised to learn.” Mycroft piled his chopped onion on top of John’s and reached for the potatoes, giving one to John and putting the other on his own cutting board. “You’ve got an impressive eye for quality ingredients. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised – the food our soldiers get is often far too bland, leaving them to crave better food.” John’s knife stilled for a moment, and he blinked, surprised that Mycroft would think about something like that.

“That’s true,” the soldier admitted, going back to cutting up the potato into large chunks. “But I’ve always had a taste for good food. My mother would be rolling in her grave if I settled for anything less.” Mycroft chuckled, a sound that John hadn’t thought compatible with such a composed, proper person.

“Either way, it’s a blessing in itself,” the elder Holmes said, checking the clock on the wall. “I think the lamb ought to be sufficiently browned by now, don’t you?” John nodded, and looked around for oven mitts, which Mycroft took from the drawer they were stashed in and handed over, letting John bend down and get the lamb out himself. For his part, Mycroft took what remained of John’s potato and continued chopping while John moved the meat to a separate cutting board so he could cut it up. When the meat was in medium-sized chunks, John transferred it to the stew pot, as well as the onions and lentils, waiting on adding the potatoes, carrots, and green beans so they wouldn’t wind up too soggy to eat. He added them in when they were all done being chopped, and put the top on.

As the stew cooked, John and Mycroft settled in the living room, John on the couch, Mycroft in a plush armchair. John couldn’t help but look around, impressed with everything but not all that surprised. Mycroft exuded an air of richness, always wore expensive suits, had a fancy car and a driver…it would only follow that his home was lavish and beautiful.

“I hope the décor is to your satisfaction,” Mycroft said after a few moments of John simply looking around, taking everything in. The doctor nodded.

“It’s lovely, but I have to admit, it’s exactly what I would have expected,” he stated, as if that made perfect sense. Mycroft raised a quizzical eyebrow, and John realized that he had to explain. “I’m getting used to you surprising me, so it’s kind of disappointing that your home is exactly what I expected it to be.” Mycroft blinked a couple of times, and gave a small laugh.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” the elder Holmes apologized, smiling craftily. “I’ll do my best to keep everything else…surprising.” John smiled and chuckled, having the strange feeling that Mycroft actually meant that. Whether or not it would be a good thing, John had yet to see.

The stew was delicious, and Mycroft insisted on personally seeing John back to the flat. There were sufficient leftovers for the stew to be reheated into another three-person meal. John liked having leftovers, and had been assured that the refrigerator was safe for food to be stored in, so he would be able to reheat them in time. Maybe he’d even be able to get Sherlock to have some. It was delicious, after all. When he entered the flat, Sherlock was exactly where he had been that afternoon when John had left for the market, sitting on the couch, staring at nothing in particular. John sighed.

“You could take a cue from your brother and actually talk to people,” the doctor said, knowing full well that Sherlock wasn’t paying attention. “Maybe even learn how to actually cook food instead of going to restaurants all the time.”

“You cooked with him,” Sherlock stated, and John jumped from where he was putting the leftovers in the fridge, between the severed head and a bag of thumbs. Even though it was a statement rather than a question, John felt compelled to answer.

“Yes, I did, we made lamb stew, and it came out quite well,” he threw out into the room as an answer, as if this made it better. “There’s some left over, if you want to try it.”

“He’s flirting with you,” Sherlock said, as if this was an obvious follow-up to what had just been said. John closed the fridge and turned to blink at Sherlock, one eyebrow raised, not understanding how this man could even understand himself sometimes.

“What are you talking about, Sherlock?” John used the exasperated tone that always got Sherlock to explain in sufficient detail for him to understand, and Sherlock gave the sigh that indicated he was about to do just that.

“He cooked with you,” the detective started, “which means that he invited you to his home, since he would never allow cooking to happen here. If he invited you to his home and cooked with you, then he’s trying to impress you. He doesn’t try to impress anyone unless he’s flirting with them, and he’s trying to impress you in particular. He’s flirting with you.” John felt a flush creep up his face as he realized the extent of what that meant, and of course, Sherlock noticed, though the detective said nothing of it. After a few moments just standing there, thinking about what that could possibly mean, John left the room without a word, heading upstairs to his bedroom. Sherlock stayed where he was, thinking. If John returned Mycroft’s flirtations, and they became a couple, it would mean having to see more of Mycroft, and less of John. It would also mean seeing them together, seeing an affectionate Mycroft instead of the businesslike, proper Mycroft he had grown used to seeing. If it made John happy, then Sherlock couldn’t really think of a reasonable objection to it, but at the same time, if Mycroft hurt John in any way, it would pose a problem for the overprotective side of Sherlock. He supposed that he would make that decision only if he had to.

About a week later, John had decided to go back to the market, to see if he would have any luck with finding something he would need to make another special dish, like the lamb stew. He went through to the meat department, and almost as soon as he had walked up to the display, the butcher brought out a special-cut filet mignon, marked with a special price.

“We’ve only got a few of these, and you look like you’re hankering to make something special,” the butcher said to John, offering the packaged steak. John took the meat, double checking the price.

“Is this right?” he asked, and the butcher nodded.

“Special sale, limited number,” the portly man answered, heading back behind the counter. John nodded, impressed that he caught this sale, and headed towards the produce department to decide what he was actually going to make with the high-end cut of meat. There was a special display near the various squashes, with Chinese eggplant on sale and a few bottles of rarely-stocked soy sauce. John’s eyes lit up when he saw those – he could make a delicious Asian-style stir fry with those and a few other ingredients…the doctor quickly rushed about, grabbing an onion, a zucchini, a green bell pepper, and a red bell pepper, as well as a small package of bean sprouts that happened to be sitting innocuously among the packaged salads. He was beyond excited to have the perfect ingredients for a meal he so rarely got to make. He paid for everything, and was about to rush back to Baker Street when he saw Mycroft’s sleek black car parked at the curb in front of the store. John sighed, and headed towards the car. When he got close, the door opened, and John saw Mycroft slide over to let him in.

“There was a special on filet mignon, wasn’t there?” the elder Holmes asked as John settled his bags on the floor between his feet, causing the doctor to look up suddenly, a slight look of confusion on his face, before realization dawned on his features.

“You arranged all of it, didn’t you?” John asked, his tone half-accusatory, have awed. Mycroft smirked that self-satisfied smirk, and John started laughing. “Let me guess. You’re going to offer your kitchen again, aren’t you?” Mycroft nodded, the smirk settling itself comfortably on his face. John smiled a little to himself, and looked down at his bags for a moment. “Heh. I guess Sherlock was right.”

“Right about what?” Mycroft asked, but John shook his head and looked back up at the elder Holmes brother, a slightly different look in his eye that Mycroft couldn’t quite place.

“Nothing,” John answered, pausing a moment. “Nothing important, anyway.” There were a few moments of relatively comfortable silence before Mycroft spoke again.

“If I might be so bold, John, I am somewhat hopeful that we can make a regular affair of cooking together. I quite enjoyed it last time, and it seems this time will be quite the same.” John grinned, and nodded enthusiastically. He paused for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to say something. He seemed to decide to actually say it, and drew in a deep breath for some courage.

“I think you’d be happy with a bit more than just cooking together, Mycroft,” the doctor said, thinking of what Sherlock had explained to him. Mycroft looked slightly frightened, as though John were going to spurn him then and there, but John smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a bit more at all.” It seemed that Mycroft had been nervous about this, and didn’t quite know what to do with being accepted, so John decided to make it as clear as he could. The doctor leaned over and kissed Mycroft’s lips gently, persisting long enough that Mycroft realized that John was kissing him and wasn’t pulling away, wasn’t shunning him, wasn’t spurning him, and that he should kiss John back, because this meant that John had accepted him. John was his.

And to think that it had all started with a stew.


End file.
